Monday, November 30, 2009

–noun1.the quality of mind or spirit that enables a person to face difficulty, danger, pain, etc., without fear; bravery.2. Obsolete. the heart as the source of emotion.

—Idiom3. have the courage of one's convictions, to act in accordance with one's beliefs, esp. in spite of criticism.

Defined by the Cowardly Lion:

"What makes a King out of a slave? Courage!

"What makes the flag on the mast to wave? Courage!

"What makes the elephant charge his tusk in the misty mist, or the dusky dusk?

"What makes the muskrat guard his musk? Courage!

"What makes the Sphinx the Seventh Wonder? Courage!

"What makes the dawn come up like thunder? Courage!

"What makes the Hottentot so hot? What puts the ape in ape-ricot?

"What have they got that I ain't got?"

"Courage!"

"You can say that again!"

Defined by scripture:

"But whatever was to my profit I now consider loss for the sake of Christ. What is more, I consider everything a loss compared to the surpassing greatness of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, for whose sake I have lost all things. I consider them rubbish, that I may gain Christ."Philippians 3:7-8

–noun1.the quality of mind or spirit that enables a person to face difficulty, danger, pain, etc., without fear; bravery.2. Obsolete. the heart as the source of emotion.

—Idiom3. have the courage of one's convictions, to act in accordance with one's beliefs, esp. in spite of criticism.

Defined by the Cowardly Lion:

"What makes a King out of a slave? Courage!

"What makes the flag on the mast to wave? Courage!

"What makes the elephant charge his tusk in the misty mist, or the dusky dusk?

"What makes the muskrat guard his musk? Courage!

"What makes the Sphinx the Seventh Wonder? Courage!

"What makes the dawn come up like thunder? Courage!

"What makes the Hottentot so hot? What puts the ape in ape-ricot?

"What have they got that I ain't got?"

"Courage!"

"You can say that again!"

Defined by scripture:

"But whatever was to my profit I now consider loss for the sake of Christ. What is more, I consider everything a loss compared to the surpassing greatness of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, for whose sake I have lost all things. I consider them rubbish, that I may gain Christ."Philippians 3:7-8

Saturday, November 28, 2009

Light is your new worst enemy. The faintest whisper sends a spear through your skull. Your nose may as well start doing hurdles, it's running so quickly. Not to worry, you're not transforming into a vampire, or some other mystical creature. You've just simply "achooed" your way into the swine dynasty.

What to do when you find yourself lost in the sauce of the swine flu?

Here are a few tips:

1. Pray. If you don't normally, start.

2. Shut your blinds, roll up a towel under your door so that no light can creep into your bedroom. Embrace the darkness. Note: not the dark SIDE darkNESS.

3. Watch as many episodes of Friends, Seinfeld and Gilmore Girls as possible. http://www.alluc.org/ is a good method for this.

4. Eat chocolate frosties from Wendy's. This will not only help soothe your throat, it will also test the faithfulness of your friends/roommates (Mine, thankfully, are very faithful. Thanks Lauren & Claire, y'all are my sunshine!)

6. Do not venture into public, no matter how invincible you feel. If you feel better, cool it, you'll more than likely relapse in the evening and wake up feeling worse in the morning. Learn from my mistakes. An "up and at 'em" attitude should be suffocated through the duration of your illness.

7. Have your grandparents drive 2 hours from Richmond to pick you up and take you home for Thanksgiving break.

9. Have a swine tray. A tray for your convenience (preferably pieced together by your mother or father). This is so that you don't actually have to touch anything and infect the rest of your loved ones/roommates. You are not Midas. What you touch will not turn to gold. It will turn into a germ-infested pool of distustingness.

No tray is complete without the following: tea bags, tea mugs, honey, Cap'n Crunch, clementines, advil, any medicine with flu relief. Red tastes the best. Applesauce, orange juice and CRANBERRY JUICE. This is very important. I drank (no lie) three gallons of this juice in a week. It's especially good if you add in a splash of orange juice.

10. Finally, rest, rest, rest. And try to remedy your boredom in any which way (that really is the worst part of this whole thing).

Don't panic. Statistics show that half of the country is going to get slammed with this (even Barbie and Ken, according to my picture). I'm just thankful I had it over Thanksgiving break, and still got to skip two whole days worth of classes completely guilt-free!

Light is your new worst enemy. The faintest whisper sends a spear through your skull. Your nose may as well start doing hurdles, it's running so quickly. Not to worry, you're not transforming into a vampire, or some other mystical creature. You've just simply "achooed" your way into the swine dynasty.

What to do when you find yourself lost in the sauce of the swine flu?

Here are a few tips:

1. Pray. If you don't normally, start.

2. Shut your blinds, roll up a towel under your door so that no light can creep into your bedroom. Embrace the darkness. Note: not the dark SIDE darkNESS.

3. Watch as many episodes of Friends, Seinfeld and Gilmore Girls as possible. http://www.alluc.org/ is a good method for this.

4. Eat chocolate frosties from Wendy's. This will not only help soothe your throat, it will also test the faithfulness of your friends/roommates (Mine, thankfully, are very faithful. Thanks Lauren & Claire, y'all are my sunshine!)

6. Do not venture into public, no matter how invincible you feel. If you feel better, cool it, you'll more than likely relapse in the evening and wake up feeling worse in the morning. Learn from my mistakes. An "up and at 'em" attitude should be suffocated through the duration of your illness.

7. Have your grandparents drive 2 hours from Richmond to pick you up and take you home for Thanksgiving break.

9. Have a swine tray. A tray for your convenience (preferably pieced together by your mother or father). This is so that you don't actually have to touch anything and infect the rest of your loved ones/roommates. You are not Midas. What you touch will not turn to gold. It will turn into a germ-infested pool of distustingness.

No tray is complete without the following: tea bags, tea mugs, honey, Cap'n Crunch, clementines, advil, any medicine with flu relief. Red tastes the best. Applesauce, orange juice and CRANBERRY JUICE. This is very important. I drank (no lie) three gallons of this juice in a week. It's especially good if you add in a splash of orange juice.

10. Finally, rest, rest, rest. And try to remedy your boredom in any which way (that really is the worst part of this whole thing).

Don't panic. Statistics show that half of the country is going to get slammed with this (even Barbie and Ken, according to my picture). I'm just thankful I had it over Thanksgiving break, and still got to skip two whole days worth of classes completely guilt-free!

Friday, November 27, 2009

Finally, at the ripe age of twenty-one, I was ready to enjoy my first glass of wine at my grandmother's house. For years, I've been waiting to be old enough, classy enough, refined enough to sip and experience the bitter, relaxing taste of my Uncle's expensive Chardonnay.

Indeed, after a week of being under the swine flu curse, I was very much looking forward to it. In fact, I thought getting through the day would be easier with a little wine under my belt.

We entered my grandmother's house. My hair was coiffed, my cheeks pinched. Suddenly, I felt like a woman. Older, experienced, mature. The smell of turkey and my cranberry sauce greeted me as I walked into the small, crowded kitchen.

The cork popped. Here it was, the moment I had been waiting for. Beautiful glasses of the forbidden fermented fruit were passed around by my father. One to my grandmother, to my mother, both of my uncles and my aunt.

Then, something horrible happened. A glass of sparkling, jumping, purple liquid was placed in my hands by my father. The world slowed as I accepted and thanked him.

How thoughtful. Welch's Sparkling Grape Juice.

I felt as though I had been doomed to the "kid's table" with paper plates and mix-matched plastic silverware as the liquid tickled my nose and throat.

Dejected, I had no choice but to quickly down four glasses of those frothy bubbles. Then I proceeded to wipe away my purple moustache, like a thirteen-year-old boy.*

Finally, at the ripe age of twenty-one, I was ready to enjoy my first glass of wine at my grandmother's house. For years, I've been waiting to be old enough, classy enough, refined enough to sip and experience the bitter, relaxing taste of my Uncle's expensive Chardonnay.

Indeed, after a week of being under the swine flu curse, I was very much looking forward to it. In fact, I thought getting through the day would be easier with a little wine under my belt.

We entered my grandmother's house. My hair was coiffed, my cheeks pinched. Suddenly, I felt like a woman. Older, experienced, mature. The smell of turkey and my cranberry sauce greeted me as I walked into the small, crowded kitchen.

The cork popped. Here it was, the moment I had been waiting for. Beautiful glasses of the forbidden fermented fruit were passed around by my father. One to my grandmother, to my mother, both of my uncles and my aunt.

Then, something horrible happened. A glass of sparkling, jumping, purple liquid was placed in my hands by my father. The world slowed as I accepted and thanked him.

How thoughtful. Welch's Sparkling Grape Juice.

I felt as though I had been doomed to the "kid's table" with paper plates and mix-matched plastic silverware as the liquid tickled my nose and throat.

Dejected, I had no choice but to quickly down four glasses of those frothy bubbles. Then I proceeded to wipe away my purple moustache, like a thirteen-year-old boy.*

Friday, November 20, 2009

Studying for my SMAD 370 test. I had zippo time to study for it/do the reading over the weekend therefore causing an all day cram-a-thon Monday from 8 a.m. to 1:45 p.m.

My brain started to feel a little abused/neglected. I basically daydreamed through the entire study period all the while giving myself an excuse to buy a grande cafe with peppermint flavoring (highly recommended).

After checking my facebook 20 gazillion times and updating my twitter account with useless things like "Mass Communications Law, you slay me," I decided to get serious.

I worked on my new masterpiece, a collage of pictures entitled, "a day in the library."

Studying for my SMAD 370 test. I had zippo time to study for it/do the reading over the weekend therefore causing an all day cram-a-thon Monday from 8 a.m. to 1:45 p.m.

My brain started to feel a little abused/neglected. I basically daydreamed through the entire study period all the while giving myself an excuse to buy a grande cafe with peppermint flavoring (highly recommended).

After checking my facebook 20 gazillion times and updating my twitter account with useless things like "Mass Communications Law, you slay me," I decided to get serious.

I worked on my new masterpiece, a collage of pictures entitled, "a day in the library."

Thursday, November 19, 2009

It got me before I even had the chance to get vaccinnated (Nov. 20th, I had every intention of marching myself down to the health center and getting innoculated before Thanksgiving break).

The swine flu isn't so bad, really. I've been watching a lot of Friend's episodes and eating a TON of applesauce. And missing all of my classes.

And sleeping.

The thing is, I've realized something very important about myself. I had an epiphany of sorts at the University Health Center, yesterday, I thought I'd share:

When the doctor walked into my room, after the nurse practitioner had given me a thorough diagnosis, she asked me how I was doing.

I answered: "I'm very well, thanks. How are you?"

The docotor looked at me and blinked. She said, "Are you REALLY well?"

I was speechless.

How many times through our days do we answer "well" (or "good" for those non-English majors out there) to people who ask us how we are? It has become so much of a habit in my case that even when I've been diagnosed with the SWINE FLU I still answer, meekly, "Well, thanks. And you?"

But, you want to know somethingn awesome? They gave me a super-sweet mask to wear when I'm in public.

Oh yeah.

I might just keep it and pretend like I'm a bandit when I'm well again. Plus, you never know when you're going to need an anti-swine spread mask in your life.

It got me before I even had the chance to get vaccinnated (Nov. 20th, I had every intention of marching myself down to the health center and getting innoculated before Thanksgiving break).

The swine flu isn't so bad, really. I've been watching a lot of Friend's episodes and eating a TON of applesauce. And missing all of my classes.

And sleeping.

The thing is, I've realized something very important about myself. I had an epiphany of sorts at the University Health Center, yesterday, I thought I'd share:

When the doctor walked into my room, after the nurse practitioner had given me a thorough diagnosis, she asked me how I was doing.

I answered: "I'm very well, thanks. How are you?"

The docotor looked at me and blinked. She said, "Are you REALLY well?"

I was speechless.

How many times through our days do we answer "well" (or "good" for those non-English majors out there) to people who ask us how we are? It has become so much of a habit in my case that even when I've been diagnosed with the SWINE FLU I still answer, meekly, "Well, thanks. And you?"

But, you want to know somethingn awesome? They gave me a super-sweet mask to wear when I'm in public.

Oh yeah.

I might just keep it and pretend like I'm a bandit when I'm well again. Plus, you never know when you're going to need an anti-swine spread mask in your life.

Friday, November 13, 2009

Thursdays are grilled cheese days at D-Hall. Best days of the week, in my opinion (not so much about the grilled cheese, or the delicious creamy tomato soup that is served, but the company)

Thursdays are also Into Hymn lunch days. At 11:30 a.m. every Thursday we meet. It's usually just three of us.

Yesterday, we made an important, impromptu decision to skip our 12:30 classes and go to target instead. Whoops. You should know I do not make a habit of this, but it was my Into Hymn girls, and the end of the semester is approaching quickly. Some very important girls are leaving.

So, in the midst of our lunching, class-skipping, target-shopping, we were walking to Evie's car and carrying on, having a good time. A car had its windows rolled down, with music thumping and we had a little dance party on the sidewalk as we were walking.

A boy (probably a sophomore) walked past us and mumbled "freshmen" under his breath.

We all stopped dead in our tracks and confronted the boy and asked, "What did you say?"

The boy was in shock. He stammered, "I...uh...was just wondering...um...if you guys were freshmen..."

"No! We're seniors, actually."

The boy got into a car that was picking him up, tail betwixt his legs.

The funny thing was, Brett Batten had just showed us her cap and gown in d-hall.

The moral of the story is: you don't have to be a freshman to be loud.

And we weren't even that loud, we were just dancing to some music that WAS too loud.

Also, in the car we had a little practice sesh.And argued whether the person singing "Give me one reason to stay here," was a man or a woman.*

Thursdays are grilled cheese days at D-Hall. Best days of the week, in my opinion (not so much about the grilled cheese, or the delicious creamy tomato soup that is served, but the company)

Thursdays are also Into Hymn lunch days. At 11:30 a.m. every Thursday we meet. It's usually just three of us.

Yesterday, we made an important, impromptu decision to skip our 12:30 classes and go to target instead. Whoops. You should know I do not make a habit of this, but it was my Into Hymn girls, and the end of the semester is approaching quickly. Some very important girls are leaving.

So, in the midst of our lunching, class-skipping, target-shopping, we were walking to Evie's car and carrying on, having a good time. A car had its windows rolled down, with music thumping and we had a little dance party on the sidewalk as we were walking.

A boy (probably a sophomore) walked past us and mumbled "freshmen" under his breath.

We all stopped dead in our tracks and confronted the boy and asked, "What did you say?"

The boy was in shock. He stammered, "I...uh...was just wondering...um...if you guys were freshmen..."

"No! We're seniors, actually."

The boy got into a car that was picking him up, tail betwixt his legs.

The funny thing was, Brett Batten had just showed us her cap and gown in d-hall.

The moral of the story is: you don't have to be a freshman to be loud.

And we weren't even that loud, we were just dancing to some music that WAS too loud.

Also, in the car we had a little practice sesh.And argued whether the person singing "Give me one reason to stay here," was a man or a woman.*

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

So I woke up this morning from a deep, peaceful, restful slumber, and this had happened:

Somehow, in the midst of my deep, peaceful, restful slumber last night, I managed to unhinge this bulletin board from my wall and place it on the floor. I say "placed" because absolutely none of the pictures were ruined, or askew, and it was gently propped next to my bed.

If it had fallen onto my bed in the middle of the night, I assure you, I would have awoken. I am a very light sleeper and the smallest of noise/commotion will wake me up.

So I woke up this morning from a deep, peaceful, restful slumber, and this had happened:

Somehow, in the midst of my deep, peaceful, restful slumber last night, I managed to unhinge this bulletin board from my wall and place it on the floor. I say "placed" because absolutely none of the pictures were ruined, or askew, and it was gently propped next to my bed.

If it had fallen onto my bed in the middle of the night, I assure you, I would have awoken. I am a very light sleeper and the smallest of noise/commotion will wake me up.

Friday, November 6, 2009

And, no I don't mean that in a "he-was-just-a-really-bad-kid" kind of way. He literally bit me in my butt. Right cheek. He left a bruise. I felt like Forrest Gump.

My revenge? I put my cat ears on him (my Halloween costume - more on that later...) and took a photo of him.

Don't get me wrong, I love my part-time job. Some of those kids are really awesome. It's the biters, the throw uppers and poopers (on their clothes, on others, on you, sadly, not kidding!) that you have to watch out for. It's just that some days when I get pooped on, I think to myself, "Seven twenty-five per hour? For this?"

I also tend to feel this way when I pull a straight up Elle Woods (when she walks into the party wearing her playboy bunny costume) and come to work dressed as a cat for Halloween.

It took me about 2.4 seconds to realize that no one else dressed up...except for a select few three-year-olds that aren't even in my classroom.

Did I mention this came complete with a long, black tail? Oh, 'cause it did.

I'm thankful that I am not graduating with a degree in interdisciplinary studies. I may not have a clue as to what I'm doing this summer, career-wise, but at least Journalists dress up for Halloween and don't bite you in the butt (in literal respects, that is...figuratively, may be so!).

And, no I don't mean that in a "he-was-just-a-really-bad-kid" kind of way. He literally bit me in my butt. Right cheek. He left a bruise. I felt like Forrest Gump.

My revenge? I put my cat ears on him (my Halloween costume - more on that later...) and took a photo of him.

Don't get me wrong, I love my part-time job. Some of those kids are really awesome. It's the biters, the throw uppers and poopers (on their clothes, on others, on you, sadly, not kidding!) that you have to watch out for. It's just that some days when I get pooped on, I think to myself, "Seven twenty-five per hour? For this?"

I also tend to feel this way when I pull a straight up Elle Woods (when she walks into the party wearing her playboy bunny costume) and come to work dressed as a cat for Halloween.

It took me about 2.4 seconds to realize that no one else dressed up...except for a select few three-year-olds that aren't even in my classroom.

Did I mention this came complete with a long, black tail? Oh, 'cause it did.

I'm thankful that I am not graduating with a degree in interdisciplinary studies. I may not have a clue as to what I'm doing this summer, career-wise, but at least Journalists dress up for Halloween and don't bite you in the butt (in literal respects, that is...figuratively, may be so!).

Wednesday, November 4, 2009

1. Working on a short story about a video blogger whose life revolves around her controversial "vlogs" and her arrogant commenters.

2. Waiting to hear the results of a contest her script writing teacher entered her in. The piece is a 10-minute play about a little boy named Todd who was caught watching porn.

3. Mustering the courage/productivity to: a. complete operation graduation. b. apply for grad school. One grad school. All eggs. One basket. Regent University, in Virginia Beach, Va. c. be truly captivating (thank you John and Staci - second time I've read your astounding and intriguing book, and I am still obsessed). d. figure out who I'm supposed to be. I think it falls somewhere along the lines of a videographer/newsreporter/blogger/fictionwriter/playwriter/screenplaywriter

1. Working on a short story about a video blogger whose life revolves around her controversial "vlogs" and her arrogant commenters.

2. Waiting to hear the results of a contest her script writing teacher entered her in. The piece is a 10-minute play about a little boy named Todd who was caught watching porn.

3. Mustering the courage/productivity to: a. complete operation graduation. b. apply for grad school. One grad school. All eggs. One basket. Regent University, in Virginia Beach, Va. c. be truly captivating (thank you John and Staci - second time I've read your astounding and intriguing book, and I am still obsessed). d. figure out who I'm supposed to be. I think it falls somewhere along the lines of a videographer/newsreporter/blogger/fictionwriter/playwriter/screenplaywriter